


together (to be)

by schwarzesloch



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Cesc Fabregàs/David Silva - Freeform, Fluff, M/M, Slice of Life, Spanish NT, football slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-09 07:03:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1973403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwarzesloch/pseuds/schwarzesloch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collection of all the fics I've written for this pairing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not scared of thunder, David."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sappy. Might be confusing. Beta-ed by the amazing sparksfly7.

There’s a horribly loud noise against the bedroom’s window, with such intensity that David thinks it might break the glass. He looks over at Cesc, who’s lying in bed with his arms and legs spread wide, leaving barely any room for David to be comfortable.

There’s another loud thump, then a flash of light, and they hear the wind raging so loudly they think it’s a wolf howling. David pretends not to, but he notices how Cesc’s eyes slightly widen and there’s a flicker of fear in his face.

\- It’s so fucking loud, we’ll get no sleep tonight – Cesc mutters. David agrees with a nod of the head and gives an almost apologetic smile to his friend.

\- I don’t like rainstorms – he says, propping himself up on one elbow. – We should just sleep somewhere else.

\- What? Why? – Cesc asks, sitting on the bed. Another loud thump is heard and he shivers and goes back to his lying position.

\- Cesc? – David asks, carefully, with a hand on his arm. – You okay?

\- Hm, yeah – the Catalan’s muffled answer comes off as unsure while he buries his head in the pillow.

\- Are you—

\- I’m not scared of thunder, David – he mutters, giving David an offended look.

\- Sure, sure – David giggles and lies down. He notices how Cesc wraps his arms around him when he hears another thunderclap, thinking David is asleep, and he smiles a little.


	2. Obviously Oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Either Cesc is very dense or David’s not doing it right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt .021 from the table (Friends)  
> a/n: hella lame. really.

Either Cesc is very dense or David’s not doing it right. He doesn’t know what could possible be failing – the hugs, the celebrations, the wanting to hang out together even when they’re miles away? – but something _is_ because Cesc asks him to hang out (or goes over when David asks him) and all they do is play FIFA, watch old matches on each other’s laptops and toy around with their Nintendos.  
  
And to be honest, what was he expecting? They’re just friends. (Well… in fact…  _You wouldn’t want to do something else with a friend, would you?)_  
  
The problem is, he does. Apparently they must have a connection of some sort (good), because they really enjoy each other’s company and always use national team call-ups to be around each other, and goal celebrations to jump to each other’s arms, and the winning of trophies to linger in each other’s embrace for more than they should, and—  
  
And yet, they’re just that, really. Not more than friends. But perhaps, if David keeps insisting and telling himself that it must be Cesc being his distraught self and not paying enough attention, then they might just cross that line.  
  
Well, there are many more things David would like to do, but for now. So much for wanting.


	3. Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cesc thinks he's being persuasive. Silva's very good at playing the fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: .056 Breakfast  
> I had this lingering around in my footie table document since 2012, but it was so bad that I had to rewrite a lot of it to make it barely readable (yeah, as you can tell, I'm still not really a good writer). Timeframe for this is Spring 2011, when Cesc was still in England.

It’s Sunday morning and Silva’s lying contently on the couch in the desert living room of his apartment, trying to pay attention to the Spanish news anchor babbling on the TV. He’s got a cereal bowl beside him on the table and he thinks it may not be a bad idea to sleep a little more.  
  
It’s nothing more than a good idea though, because in that exact moment, as if they’d somehow read his mind, someone is incessantly ringing at his doorbell. He wonders who it might be so early in the morning, thinking there’s not many people he’d be expecting at this time. Maybe Joe, except they don’t have training today.  
  


“Hi David!” Cesc Fàbregas beams down at him.  
  


“What the... Cesc? _You_ again?” Silva says, shaking his head in disbelief.  
  


“I was in Manchester, so I decided to drop by and say hello” he says in his usually cheery voice. “I brought donuts. I know you’ll only indulge in them in my presence, so I took it upon myself to lead your descent into deviant behaviour…”  
  


Silva can’t help but laugh at that. Cesc has always had a way of making him laugh when he’d least expect it, finding ways into him he thought had been closed a long time ago.  
  


"Mind if I come in?"  
  


Silva steps aside then, finding it awkward to stand there with the traces of a smile still on his lips, like he's drunk on something inexplicable. He feels overwhelmed by how at ease the Catalan is around him, even though they haven't seen each other for the most part of the season.  
  


"Sure. Make yourself comfortable."  
  


Cesc pats him quickly on the shoulder and his eyes widen when he sees Silva’s bewildered look, only there for a fraction of a second. Silva closes the door behind them and follows Cesc into the living room.  
  


“I see you and I have something in common besides the donuts! At last", Cesc smiles awkwardly. “I mean the cereal. Cookie Crisp is really good."  
  


Silva looks at Cesc like he’s suddenly grown three heads.  
  


“Yeah. I don’t know why, my brother left them last time he was here…" Silva says, trying to brush off the awkwardness between them. “…I don’t even like cereal that much.”  
  


“No way!” Cesc yelps in shock. “How can someone… like… not like to eat cereal for breakfast? How can _you_ not like cereal?”  
  


“What do you mean, ‘how can _I_ not like cereal?’

  
“Well, it’s because… you’re like a little kid. Don’t take this the wrong way. Everyone says the same. You’re so small and innocent, like a child. And cereal is little people food. So I thought you liked it.”

  
“What the hell.” Silva is still trying to process what he just heard. He’s not entirely sure if he just didn't get it because he's still half sleep or if Cesc's actually mocking him.  
  


“Cesc, I just woke up twenty minutes ago. I’m not ready for this level of weird.” Cesc ducks his head, embarrassed (he _is_ weird, and definitely has no regards for social conventions such as _personal space and_ _time,_ things he should have learned a long time ago). They're left facing each other for a while, shifting on their feet awkwardly before Silva finally asks, “What are you doing here anyway?”  
  


“Oh right”, Cesc says, like he’d forgotten the actual reason of his visit and had just remembered. Knowing him, Silva thinks that might actually be it.  
  


“So, I woke up this morning and thought to myself, ‘what a beautiful day, wouldn’t it be nice to do something good with it?'”, he grins, “'not very often that you see the sun out like this in England, who would want to waste this beauty brooding at home? So I thought maybe it would be better if I asked someone out.”  
  


Silva gives him a blank stare.  
  


“Did you call Fernando? I’m sure he’d love to go with you.”  
  


“Thought about it”, Cesc says, feigning thoughtfulness, “But the whole kids deal threw me off.”  
  


“And Pepe?” Silva asks. “He wouldn’t turn you down.”  
  


“No”, Cesc ponders, looks him straight in the eye. “He wouldn’t. Will you?”  
  


“Well, how can I resist such a daring invitation?” Silva deadpans, trying hard to fight the urge of his shy nature that tells him to look away. Cesc’s gaze keeps his in place, demanding,  
  


“You can’t”, Cesc winks at him as his hand comes resting softly on Silva’s shoulder, patting down in what feels like reassurance, for his own sake. Silva swifly disentangles himself from the Catalan’s half hug and saunters off into the kitchen, a smirk on his face, rolling up his sleeves.  
  


Cesc, as expected of him, follows Silva into the room, all carefully slumped shoulders trailing behind the small figure, keeping his distance as to not get too close for intimacy. He leans back on the counter opposite the sink, watching as Silva takes the porcelain in his hands and submerges it into the abrasive foam, brushing forcefully before setting each piece aside. Then he turns on the tap – Cesc can see it fuming from where he stands – and a stream of lukewarm water flows carelessly over his hands in a relaxing rhythm, slow and purifying.

(Cesc has never been so mesmerized by someone doing the dishes.)

 

When he’s done he turns around, throws the cleaning rag on the counter and before he reaches the hallway he stops in the doorway, turns around and says, “So where are we going?”


End file.
